Temptations
by OhhEmmGeeOlivia
Summary: When Richard Grayson continues his reckless behavior on missions, his boss pairs him up with a certain red head in hopes she'll keep him in line. That is, if she doesn't kill him first. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Kory Anders steeled herself.

There, not five feet away, was _not_ her target. Richard Grayson. Not in a cat suit, not wearing a ski mask, and definitely not wearing a bullet proof vest. His jet black hair was mussed to perfection. Kory noticed through her completely professional observations that even when he threw his head back to laugh, his hair never moved. Quality hair gel, she deduced, wondering if she could ask him what he uses should she ever get the chance.

Her own fiery locks were covered by a light brown wig that hung down her back whilst her simple maroon gown cinched at the waist before flowing to the ground. All in all, she was very unassuming and didn't attract attention. The goal.

Kory never understood how the heroines in movies always dressed to the nines, and then acted surprised when they were found out. They might as well have had 'I'm paid by the government' tattooed on their foreheads. Whom, incase you were wondering, don't pay well. She knew from experience.

Kory's dress covered her figure without being too unflattering and her makeup downplayed her features rather than enhancing them. The idea was to blend in, become a nameless face in the crowd. Give no one reason to do a double take.

Richard Grayson, heir of the prestigious Wayne Enterprises and notorious player, certainly caused Kory to take a second look. His nightly escapades always found their way into the paper. She had to agree with all the gossip columns; he really was gorgeous.

She didn't realize she was staring for long until he turned and met her gaze with a well placed smirk. Fantastic secret agent she was, couldn't even control her staring.

She allowed her eyes to drop to the champagne glass that had found its way into her hand sometime during the evening. It was really very interesting. And the more she stared down the glass, the more she could pretend that Richard Grayson wasn't making his way towards her. Nope.

Kory ignored him until she could make out his expensive dress shoes through the pink champagne. He cleared his throat and her brown eyes met his.

"Now why would a pretty lady such as you be standing alone instead of out on the dance floor?" His eyebrow quirked up effortlessly.

Kory's face went red. Not because he called her a lady or commented she was pretty. She could smell the bull and more than suspected his less than honorable intentions. No, it was that fact that she was indeed alone. Even though she was a damn good agent and her assignment partner was on paternity leave, she couldn't help but feel pathetic attending a socialite ball alone.

"Why would a bachelor, such as you, leave his playboy date to bother the 'pretty lady' who is clearly not interested?" She retorted, not in the mood for flirtatious banter. And why he was talking with her was still a mystery. Kory could see Richard's date eyeing her with contempt every few seconds. Richard reached over and plucked her glass out of her hand, setting it on a nearby table. She narrowed her eyes.

"I simply must insist you have at least one dance. Nobody comes to a ball and doesn't dance. Especially my ball."

"No, I really don't-" he grabbed her hand firmly and pulled her after him onto the ball room floor amongst the dancing couples. One hand on her waist, the other grasping her hand, Richard pulled her close, too close, and began swaying.

"Now isn't this more entertaining than scoping out escape routes?" He asked softly, speaking into her ear. Kory's breath caught and it was no small feat that she kept her body relaxed and her voice light. She leaned back just enough to see his face. They could be talking about the weather for all anyone knew.

"Escape routes? Well I don't know, Mr. Grayson. Have you never considered that someone could be looking for an in, not an out? Wayne mansion is legendary after all." Richard chuckled and shook his head. Kory narrowed her eyes as his hair stayed in place. Never trust a person with perfect hair.

"How rude of me. You know my name, and I still don't know yours. Strange, considering I know everyone in this room." His eyes flashed. "Everyone but you."

"Lauren Sanders. I own a small boutique in downtown New York."

"You don't sound like a New Yorker." He said.

"I grew up as a foster child. Moved around so much I couldn't obtain a specific accent. Or family."

"That's quite a tragic story," Richard commented. "Now how about you tell me your real name."

"I assure you, I don't know what you're talking about." She grinned as he spun her. "Can't a girl party crash without being interrogated?"

"Sure, only most girls don't carry guns underneath their dresses, and actually want to dance." He mocked, tightening his grip and sending her a pointed look. Kory's blood chilled and she discreetly tried to see if her gun was showing from her right hip. She looked back up at him calculatingly.

"How did you know I was carrying a gun?"

"I didn't until now."

Kory glared, opening her mouth to put him in his place when something caught her eye. Turning her head ever so slightly, she spotted two waiters arguing quietly. The bigger one discreetly checked his watch before motioning to the smaller one to follow him out into the hall. Kory furrowed her eyebrows. Her mission folder stated that someone at this residence would be exchanging plutonium. She had just figured it would've been a guest.

She broke away from her dance partner to follow the culprits only to have Richard pull her back.

"They're getting away!" She whispered frantically.

"Stay here, I've got this. This is no job for the police, especially wearing those shoes." Kory glanced down at her heels. They really were impractical, but people would notice if she was wearing combat boots! She looked up to tell him just so and found he was gone. Kory gritted her teeth. Stupid men. And she wasn't from the police! As fast as she could without drawing attention, Kory exited the godforsaken ballroom and hurried out into the hallway. Away from prying eyes, she took a moment to dispose of her heels. If the swishing of her dress didn't give her away, then the click-clack of her heels would.

Kory was then faced with another problem. Which hallway did they go down? She sighed; this was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing.**

Surveying her options, Kory chose the darkest, sketchiest corridor, and crept that that. The layout of Wayne manor flashing though her mind, letting her know she was headed toward the library.

The moon cast eerie shadows through the giant windows as she passed by, the soft sound of her feet on the floor suddenly sounded like gun shots. Kory's hand remained on her hip, where her gun holster lay beneath her dress, cursing Richard Grayson for making her life harder than it had to be.

It was difficult enough getting her boss to put her in the field, and Kory had to fight her way through all of the testosterone to make sure she was noticed. Now some playboy hero-wannabe waltzes in, trying to follow _her _leads and take down _her _criminals. He'd probably get killed in the process. The nerve of him. If Kory didn't have to include everything that had happened in her mission statement, she would surely kick his ass.

The disguised redhead paused before turning the next corner, hearing the muffled sounds of fighting. Slipping her pistol out from underneath her dress, she mentally prepared herself for any sort of situation. Expect the unexpected, and all the crap she'd been taught in her training.

Her training never involved a civilian trying to steal her job.

Kory came to a set of doors and charged in without hesitation.

Immediately she had to duck out of the way to avoid a body being pushed into her. What a lovely welcome. The body, one of the waiters, recovered fast, spinning around to face his new opponent and aiming a fist for her face. Kory blocked the blow with her forearm, wrenched his arm behind his back, and with her other hand, slammed the butt of the gun against the back of his head.

Not what the pistol was for, but effective none the less.

"I thought I told you to stay back." Richard grunted, trying to gain the upper hand against the other two waiters while in his suit. And was failing. He was knocked back against a book case, sending books tumbling and the suit in question was tearing along the seams. It brought Kory satisfaction knowing it had to be designer.

"I don't take orders from the likes of you."

Richard finally captured one of the phony waiters in a head lock, sending her an incredulous look she couldn't see.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Richard demanded as she began squaring off with the last waiter. He feinted left and Kory rose her arm to aim, when he attacked right, grabbing the wrist holding the gun, and bending it back. Instinct kicked in and she buckled to her knees and as he applied more pressure, Kory grunted. The gun fell out of her hand.

She reacted immediately as his eyes followed the guns decent and aimed a punch between the legs. He shifted away just in time, but it was close enough that she was able to jump up and gain some ground.

"It means I'm on an assignment," Dodge right, kick left, glare at Richard Grayson. "And you're screwing it up!" Her temper getting the best of her as she turned her attention away for a barely a second, but it gave her attacker just enough time to ram her in the gut, sufficiently knocking the breath out of her. She thanked her lucky stars the shoddy criminals weren't smart enough to bring guns.

Wait a second. What was she doing?! _She_ had a gun!

Her faltering gave the assailant enough room to move into offensive. Rather than throwing kicks and hits, she was defending herself, dodging and blocking. Very difficult in a dress. A wrong step to the left and her feet tangled around each other.

She fell with the grace of an elephant, knocking over a glass sculpture of a naked lady that she supposed was considered art. It shattered, pieces of glass falling into her hair and into the palms of her hand as she attempted to catch herself. This was not going the way she planned.

But on the floor, her gun was much closer. Kory frantically tried to crawl towards it, knowing it would take time she didn't have to stand up in the impossible dress that she planned on burning after the mission was over.

Almost there. She heard Richard's fight still going on, sounding like he had the advantage. Beginners luck. She reached her arm out to grasp the handle when a pair of hands found themselves on her ankles. She closed her hand around the butt of the gun as she was dragged backwards along the wooden floor.

Twisting her upper body, she raised her arm and fired.

The bullet hit home in his thigh, knocking him down and paralyzing him momentarily. He wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

Scrambling up, she saw Richard taking a small dark package out of his unconscious waiters jacket. _Her_ package. She held out her hand with a resigned look.

"Thank you, I suppose." The words tasted bitter in her mouth. "But I'll be taking that now." She stepped forward and he stepped back.

He raised his eyebrows.

"This is not a toy, little girl."

Kory bristled.

"I'm well aware, now hand over the contraband at once. I won't have you messing with it anymore." She strode over to Richard, hand outstretched. "Hand it over."

He began to move it behind his back. Kory gritted her teeth, reaching around him, landing one hand on a corner of the package.

He tugged it. She jerked it. It was like they were in kindergarten, fighting over the last shovel in the sand box. Juvenile and pointless. This was what she risked her life for? To play a game of tug-of-war with an oversized spoiled brat?

Richard gave a firm tug, stomping on the part of her dress that was dragging on the floor.

Her dress snagged and tore up to the side. The package dropped and rolled coming to a stop towards the center of the library.

The two of them watched in silence. When their eyes met, she saw his smirk.

Eyes wide, Kory jumped. But she was too late. Richard had launched himself at it, all of his weight landing on his shoulder. His muffled pain was nothing compared to Kory's fury.

"_Give. That. Back._" She growled, slowly making her way over to him, wary of the broken glass and her bare feet. Her head felt like it weighed an extra ten pounds with the wig pinned into her scalp, causing her to sweat even _more_. But even so, she kept forward.

Richard stood up, holding the package above his head on his good side.

"Finders keepers." He chuckled, turned around and making to leave, package still dangling above his head. Practically daring her to snatch it. It would be rude to ignore such a dare.

Taking a running start, decidedly ignoring the glass littering the floor, she vaulted onto his back, clawing at his head trying to reach the plutonium. Kory make extra sure to mess up his hair and further ruin his suit.

She would not be the only one looking like a train wreck.

"Get off of me psycho!" He spun wildly, and Kory dug claws into his back shoulder.

"Not without that package."

She barely had time to rake her nails across his cheek when Richard slammed her back into the book case, loosening her grip and the books. First edition hardcover's and paper backs showered on top of them. With his free hand, he yanked her arm to the side, spun out of her grip and grabbed hold of her gun.

Words could not describe the fierce glower she was shooting him. Not worried in the least though. She knew he probably had never held a gun before in his privileged life.

` Their breathing came out in loud huffs, filing the silence that covered them.

"Now, I'm not going to shoot you-"

"I'm so grateful I could just strangle-"

"-because you're in the police force and I wouldn't do that to one of their rookies."

"-astrate you an- a _rookie?_ You've got to be kidding me, I-" He raised the gun, her eyes narrowed and he let out three warning shots into the ceiling. She fell silent.

"Now," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The guards will arrive in three minutes. You have two minutes and fifty-nine seconds to walk out of here without repercussions." The gun hand drifted down until it was aimed at her chest.

"I suggest you make the smart decision."

Richard Grayson exited the room with her gun in his hand as though it had every right to be. He yielded it just the same.

She was going to be in so much trouble at work in the morning.

Richard's night ended with a bottle of brandy and a shower, Kory's ended with sneaking out the window.

Monday morning came around and rained on his parade. Literally. It was pouring down outside. Combine that with a nasty hangover and Richard Grayson was not having a good day. He glanced at the clock then groaned, causing his head to throb. What was he doing awake at the office at seven in the morning?!

He figured he was needed for a dangerous assignment or a medal of some sort for interfering with the polices' job, making them even more incompetent and obsolete. Both sounded fantastic. But Richard was positive it could've waited till noon. Or Tuesday. The roll of his stomach reminding him of the multitude drinks he downed the night before to celebrate his success.

All he wanted was a quiet, uneventful morning. Unfortunately, his boss, The Director, didn't get the memo as he slammed open his door.

"Grayson! What the hell were you thinking?" His boss boomed. He supposed then that he wasn't getting a medal. "The retrieval of plutonium was not your job." Richard attempted a nonchalant shrug but grimaced as pain shot up his right shoulder.

"Just… havin a little fun Chief." The Directors' face was slowly turning red and Richard was worried he'd stop breathing. He appeared to have many years on him after all, and it was bound to happen eventually. "Look, I didn't go looking for trouble, I just saw an opportunity and took it. I should be rewarded for my heroic effort."

Perhaps that went a little too far. The Director thought so too.

"What you did was selfish and idiotic. Charging into a mission with no team and not fully briefed! We _had _an agent on scene. A good one too. Despite your beliefs, we have other agents in this organization other than you." The Director fumed. It felt as though there was a jack hammer doing construction on his head.

"You could've died, you could've compromised this organization! I have half a mind to suspend you for insubordination!" Richard smirked, ignoring the pain as he folded his arms behind his head. No matter how much his shoulder was hurting or how much he botched another agent's assignment, he was still Richard Grayson. He was an asset. And for his shoulder? He would just get his butler Alfred to do something about it later.

"But you won't." He said arrogantly. The Director gritted his teeth and glared at the agent through his glasses, glancing down at the papers on his desk for a moment before returning his gaze. His eyes full of indignation and authority faded to resignation.

"I'm short enough on staff as it is. Suspending you would be more trouble than it's worth. No. What you need is respect, discipline, and a serious reality check." The Director slouched in his chair. "Starting today you will be on probation and—"

"Excuse me? I'm Richard Grayson; I've never failed a single mission! I don't deserve probation."

"Unfortunately, that's not for you to decide. Especially after you just blew your last mission and now this-"

"This is complete bullshit. I didn't blow anything. I did everything right and got the information like you fucking asked me to."

"You work for this company, Grayson." The Chief said, glaring. "You work for me, under this building with my own goddamn terms. You don't like it? Leave. I don't have time for your tantrums." He rubbed his worn face, taking off his glasses. "Get out of my office."

**Hey guys, hope you liked the chapter. I'll try to update more frequently, but I'm making no promises. Tell me what you think in your reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I own nothing.**

Kory sat hunched over her cheap, steaming coffee that morning, nursing a bruised pride. After she turned in her mission report, The Director has said _nothing_. Was she in trouble? Was she fired?! And what of that despicable Richard Grayson? Did they track him down? Pry the plutonium out of his cold dead hands? Or did he fall to his knees begging for mercy, offering his inheritance, his estate, and everything that touched the sky? Kory grinned.

It only seemed fitting that if she lost everything, so did he.

Kory cast a solemn glance to the only other seat at the table. She just hoped for her brothers sake that The Director would go easy on her. Give her a few days to find other employment. She ran her thumb across her plastic mug. What would she tell Ryan? How could she tell him? They were just about to file for a student loan but now she wasn't so sure.

Kory couldn't tell him, she decided. She would be the worst sister in the world to burden him more than she already had.

Shuffling feet soon entered the kitchen, interrupting her wallowing. Her back automatically straightened and her grin became a bit more genuine.

"Good morning."

"Morning. So what's for breakfast?" Ryan asked, falling into the chair next to her.

"I was going to ask you." She joked wearily. "I'm sorry, I'm exhausted. I had a late night at work."

Ryan frowned.

"They're working you way too hard. Don't they realize you're a secretary, not a minion?"

Kory shrugged, staring deeply into her cooling coffee.

"They sign my paychecks, Ryan. They ask, I do. It's not fun, but I do enjoy having three meals a day and a roof above my head."

"So do I, I feel like I'm drowning in luxury." He smirked, raking a hand through his unruly brown hair. Kory kept trying to talk him into allowing her to cut it, but he wouldn't budge. Ryan sluggishly pulled himself out of his chair and moved over to the stove. "What'll it be your highness, sunny side up or scrambled?"

Kory rolled her eyes.

"Do not mock me. I know it's been a hard couple of years, but I think things are finally turning around in our favor. I cannot slack off now. If anything, I have to work harder than ever." She told him. "And scrambled please."

"Just try not to burn out, alright? I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself. You should do the same." He fiddled with the burners to find the right setting.

"Hey, who's the adult here again? I will always take care of you, so get used to it!"

"Okay, _mother_." He teased, going for the fridge. "What do you want to drink, orange juice?"

"I already have coffee."

"Well... then what do I want to drink?" He pondered, making sure to keep an eye on the eggs.

Kory smiled into her mug. It didn't matter how many jobs she would take on. She would do it all for him.

"Perhaps you want chocolate milk?"

"Fanastic idea, brilliant. Why didn't I think of it myself?"

"Not sure, considering it is what you drink every single morning."

Ryan shrugged sheepishly.

"I like to consider the other options. Maybe one day I will go for the orange juice or your crap coffee. But not today." He snagged the carton with the chocolate cow on it and got his cup ready.

As he shuffled around the kitchen, Kory was painfully aware that his shoes were only being held together by duct tape.

No matter what she got paid, it was never enough.

And if she got fired, it never would be.

ooOoo

With grim determination, Kory walked through her office doors. She took the elevator to the basement and then went down two flights lower. The linoleum tiles led up to The Directors office. Honestly, she should probably just start packing up her stuff and leave with her head down. But Kory refused to leave without fighting for her.

It wasn't her fault, and should the situation come up again, she would do better. She could learn. She wasn't incompetent after all, so how dare he think that.

Just because she was female and an… aesthetically pleasing asshole happened to ruin her plans doesn't mean that she'll swoon for every damn male that walks by her.

The poor janitor mopping the tiles was subject to her man-hating glare.

How dare the director sign her away like she hasn't contributed anything. Because she had damn it!

And she was going to march right into his office and give him a piece of her mind. It wouldn't change anything, but she would still have her dignity and be able to walk out of the building for the last time with her chin up and shoulders back.

Kory sped up, grabbed The Director's handle and yanked the door open. With how much she felt empowered, she imagined herself ripping it off its hinges. She took one step into his office, one look at his face, and felt any courage she had go down the drain. Her lip trembled.

"Agent Anders, do you need something?"

"I-"

"Because I'm working on a very important case. Can it wait?"

Kory nodded and he gestured for her to sit. As demurely as possibly, she sat herself down in the world's most uncomfortable chair, but refused to fidget. She would not break under pressure.

The room was silent. And it felt as though there was buzzing in her ear. The only sound came from the occasional scratch of his ball-point pen or the brush of a paper from The Director's desk. This had to be some kind of intimidation technique he deployed.

She slowly began drumming her fingers alone the armrest. Kory felt as though she could hear her watch ticking. She wasn't wearing a watch and knew it wasn't real, but reacted just the same.

"Please do not fire me." She blurted out, adding in a 'sir' afterwards. "I take full responsibility, however there were circumstances I could not account for and I was left to best handle the situation as I saw fit and he had possession of my _gun_, sir, and a civilian with a weapon has never occurred to be-"

"Richard Grayson," The Director sighed, setting down his pen. "Is not a civilian. He's an idiot."

"Sir? I'm afraid I don't understand." Did this mean she wasn't fired?

"I have a multitude of agents under my belt, some that would surely shock you. Agent Grayson," As he said those words, Kory's eyebrows rose. "Happens to be among them. He was not aware that I had an agent on the field, nor was he briefed about the delivery so I have to assume he found it out on his own. Believe me, Agent Anders; he is in huge trouble for interfering. His impulsiveness will surely be his downfall."

"So… I am not fired?" Because she needed his verbal confirmation before she could really breathe.

"Of course not." The Director glanced down at his stack of paperwork, and the back up to the redhead in front of him. "Is that everything?"

Kory walked out of that office feeling confused. She should feel relieved that she was not out of a job, but how great can that job be if Richard Grayson does it as well?

Is he... better than her? Well if he was, Kory would make sure to run circles around him.

She stopped by her mailbox on the way out. Hundreds of mailboxes lined the wall to the stairs, all cold steel, only differentiated by numbers. She was number 452. A stack of papers sat in the tiny space, filled with information from her next assignment. Kory removed the hefty packet, shut her own special steel mailbox and walked away wondering which cold number was Richard Grayson's and what laid within.

ooOoo

Kory was greeted in the forensic analysis lab with a crash.

"Rachel?" She called, looking for her raven haired friend. Instead, a mop of shaggy blond hair popped out from the right side of a counter.

"Uh, she'll back in a, uh, few minutes." The voice sounded distracted and a little distressed. Kory furrowed her brows and began to walk around to the other side.

"Are you okay?" Kory asked, finding him crouched on the ground trying to pick up shattered pieces of glass. "Do you need assistance?"

"No, no- it's my mess, I'll clean it up." The guy said, offering a sheepish smile. Kory returned it.

"Perhaps you should use gloves so you don't cut yourself." She offered, taking in his sloppy appearance. His shirt was half-tucked, his hair askew, and he was wearing two different shoes.

She watched as he scrambled around for gloves.

"Hey, Kory. What are you doing here?" The soft voice of her friend, Rachel, filled the cramped room and Kory watched as the frazzled guys back stiffened.

"An assignment, of course. You remember that fabric sample I gave you, yes?"

Rachel nodded.

"Yes, and it was just as you suspected. Matched with the others. All of the missions you've been on, the same person has been involved."

"I knew it!" Kory exclaimed, startling the man and almost causing him to knock over a tray of evidence.

"Watch it." Rachel snapped, glaring. Kory leaned in and lowered her voice as the guy began fumbling with his gloves.

"Who is that?"

"My new intern." She answered through gritted teeth.

"I thought you weren't supposed to get another one after the last one ended up in the ER." The redhead said, eyeing the intern nervously.

"Yeah? Well me too. But his parents had insane connections and everyone thinks he'll be a prodigy." As if to counter Rachel's statement, another crash ricocheted around the lab. The guy came panting up to the two girls.

"I found the gloves." He announced, grinning toothily.

"Kory, this is Garfield. Garfield, Kory."

He stuck out one of his gloved hands.

"Call me Gar."

"Gar it is then." She took his hand.

"Garfield, have you done the blood samples yet?" Rachel asked, raising a brow.

"I was just about to, Rae, but then some test tubes _decided_ to just fall over an-"

"Just get it done." Rachel snapped, then added, "Don't ever call me Rae." The raven haired girl then stormed away, leaving Kory and Gar alone. The blonde leaned in.

"She totally wants me."

ooOoo

**Third installment, yay! Sorry for the extremely spaced out update. I swear that I'm constantly writing for this story, but it's always random moments for somewhere in the middle. Never for the part I'm at. Sigh. My mind is simply way too cluttered.**

**Let me know what you guys think in your reviews! Until next time -Olivia**


	4. Chapter 4

**I own nothing.**

Chapter Four

"Who the hell does he think his is, giving me probation? How was I to know we had an agent on sight. _He _should go on probation for shit communication." Richard seethed.

"Why don't you put that in his suggestion box? I'm sure it'll go down real well." His friend chuckled. Richard glared and aimed the ball for the net. He missed. "Hey, you're the idiot that screwed up that chick's mission. Take your probation like a man."

Victor narrowly avoided a basketball to the face.

"No, it's more than that." Richard protested, walking across the court towards the water fountain. "He treats me as though I have no experience. Talks to me like I'm a kid, like I'm-"

"Like you're not _the_ Richard Grayson?" He finished with a knowing look on his face. "The Director's a stand up guy and you know it. You're just upset because he's not willing to bend over backwards for your bullshit or look the other way when you metaphorically shit on his rules."

So maybe Richard toed the line. A little. For fuck sakes the exchange was happening five feet away from him. He was supposedly trained by the best, but then expected to be ignorant as to what was going on in his own home? It's ingrained in him to constantly look over his shoulder. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. And sometimes, he really did.

It was the coolest thing; training to be an agent. Sure there was paper work involved, and a shit ton of hard labor, but the dream of being the next James Bond held him through. They taught him how to block, move without making a sound, and how to kill. All very necessary and for that, Richard was grateful. What they didn't teach him was that he wouldn't be able to take a leisurely walk outside without sizing up the threat of the only other person on the street. That every night after a mission, and even on his nights off, he couldn't hear the floorboards creak or the windows shake without tensing up. That once you killed a person, you were never the same. They didn't teach you any of that. And Richard thought that they really should.

"You just don't understand because you're not an agent anymore." Richard said without a thought. His hand paused on the faucet of the fountain. "That was a cheap shot, Vic, I'm sorry."

" You're not wrong." He attempted to shrug off the comment, but his shoulders were too tense. He brought his good hand over to where the prosthetic met his elbow. "I made the same mistake you did; I thought I was invincible." Victor ran his left fingers over his metal ones.

Richard lowered his eyes to the flowing steam of water.

"Anyway, security is my calling. It's more up my alley. I just wish I didn't have to lose my arm to learn that." Victor shuffled over to where Richard threw the ball, attempting to change the subject. "Hey Dick, you still having your birthday party?"

"Nothing could make me cancel it."

"Not even after what happened the last time?" Victor smirked. Richard feigned ignorance.

"Which time? The time where Roy got trashed and tried to take on everyone he made eye contact with, or when my party was crashed by a group of elderly strippers?" He widened his eyes in pretend surprise. "Oh _wait_, you mean the time The Director staged a mission under my own roof, didn't tell me about, and when I tried to apprehend the bastards, _I'm _the one who gets screwed over."

Victor raised an eyebrow.

"You still live with Bruce, it's not really your-"

"I put way too much planning into this. A man only turns twenty-three once."

"You say that every year."

"Besides," Richard went on, ignoring his friend. "if I'm supposed to blend in with society, and not draw attention to myself, I have to stand out."

Victor grabbed the ball and began dribbling absentmindedly. The two of them always tried to get together a couple times a week. Sometimes their other friends tagged along, however didn't missions and normal jobs kept them away most days. It had been a while since they had managed to find time for a game, but they both needed someone to vent to and their contract explicitly forbade them from revealing their true occupation to civilians.

Richard wasn't even able to tell his girlfriend Barbra Gordon. Well, _ex_-girlfriend. It had been fine at first, her father was Gotham's police commissioner, so she understood confidentiality. However, his constant work trips made her feel uneasy because he was never able to tell her where he was going. Richard had to avoid her after his missions if he ever got injured or bruised to avoid suspicion. They began to fight a lot. First about his behaviors, then about everything else. All of their feelings just seemed to explode when they were around one another. Barbra began ignoring him out of spite and jealously. She had absolutely no proof, but she highly suspected he was sleeping around. And while she had no proof, Richard had no proof of actually working. When they weren't fighting or avoiding one another, they were working. Eventually the two of them realized that it wasn't worth it anymore. They had both changed.

They were both stubborn though, not wanting to admit that things had fallen apart. So they clung to whatever was left of their relationship. Barbra was familiar to Richard, and as hard as it was to be around her, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of being alone. He wasn't a fan of change. The day they officially broke it off was the day they stopped fighting. No it wasn't mutual and no, they didn't talk it out. It reached the point where they were both so tired. Of the hatred and the secrets and the fighting. But without the fighting, the only thing left between them was ear-shattering silence. Barbra left without saying a word and Richard knew she wouldn't be coming back.

Two years later and it was all water under the bridge as they say. As well as it could be anyway. Their silence slowly became set in stone. Richard, already known in the tabloids for having a good time, decided he needed something simple. A relationship in addition to his dangerous assignments was too hard and Richard couldn't really say that he missed it.

And when Barbra and Richard were in a particularly bad fight, Victor tore Richard out of his dark room and dragged him to the basketball court. Thus, the tradition began.

"You know what I need to do?" Richard asked, watching as Victor effortlessly shot a basket with his fake hand.

"Keep your head down?"

Richard shook his head. If he kept his head down, then the Director would continue to treat him as only second rate.

"I need to prove that risks pay off."

Vic groaned.

"Whatever it is you're thinking, don't do it. The Director will kill you."

"Me?" Richard grinned. "But I'm _the_ Richard Grayson."

Victor rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

"Are we going to play or not, because I think your ego needs deflating."

**ooOoo**

After their talk, Richard decided to heed Victors warning. Sort of.

The way he figured it, all he had to do was kiss up a little to get back into the bosses good graces. And what better way to kiss up than putting in extra work hours? Besides accidentally buying _two _mustangs instead of one and generously gifting the other one to his equally generous employer. That did not go over as well as you would think. Which was the reason he found himself all the way in the forensics lab in the basement.

Richard didn't go there too often; he didn't really have a need to. He turned in the evidence he found, and moved on. He couldn't imagine trying to keep up with it all. So he figured it was just the out of character act to gain favor. Only problem was that he had no fucking clue what he was supposed to do down there.

DNA tests? Look at fingerprints? Cause a nuclear reaction? He just didn't know. He wandered over to where the forensic specialist kept a bunch of weird looking substances lining the wall on a shelf. One practically glowed. It was blood red and when Richard squinted, it appeared to pulse. He went to pick it up to examine it further but his hand only got so far before the girl slapped it away.

"I already told you not to touch anything." She growled. All five foot two of her seemed to glare at him. Richard couldn't comprehend how that much rage could be in such a petite body. "I've already got one idiot breaking my things, I don't need another."

"Okay, so um..."

"Rachel." She told him. Again.

"Rachel. Yeah. What evidence did you want me to look at again?"

The girl- Rachel- sighed. She had to be one of the palest people he ever saw, though with the horrible fluorescent light and significant lack of windows, it was to be expected.

"I'm not exactly sure, it could just be nothing. But my intern noticed most of the finger prints you turned into evidence were whirls and thought there might be a connection."

Richard frowned.

"Wait, which finger prints?"

Rachel grabbed a hold of the notepad laying on the lab table beside her. "Finger prints from your last three missions, I believe." She looked up at him expectantly. "Any ideas?"

Richard shook his head slowly. Nothing in his papers said anything about his missions being related; he just assumed they were singular.

"We don't have enough of the prints to be absolutely sure, but the bits we do have match up." She set her clipboard down to tie up her raven hair. "The idea is that on your next mission, you'll trick whoever it is into giving us a whole print."

"How am I going to do that?" He asked as she walked around one of the lab tables.

"I'm trying to create something your assailant might touch with his hands. Something not completely random, something he'll need to touch." Rachel rummaged around a box of miscellaneous items before pulling out a glass orb. "This is photochromic glass. It reacts to UV exposure. You get whoever it is to touch this, we'll get their entire prints."

"Okay," Richard said eyeing the ball in her hands. "But what about my prints?"

"Wear gloves."

"What if the guy is wearing gloves?"

"Get him to take them off."

Surely once Richard asks nicely for the evil dude to remove his gloves, he'll actually comply. He snorts. Rachel sends him a vicious look.

"Listen, this is my field and this is _my_ contribution. I trust you to be able to handle yours."

He made a face, but nodded all the same.

"Deal."

"Good. I'll have it ready before your next mission, just stop in before you leave." Rachel instructed. She set the orb aside, pushing the box of miscellaneous objects underneath a table.

"Right, got it. Now about what I came down here for..."

She leveled him with a stare.

"If you insist on making yourself useful, I have plenty of beakers that need to be cleaned. You'll have to wear gloves as some of the chemicals aren't very friendly, but that's all I've got at the moment."

Cleaning beakers. He could do that. In fact, he already _has _done that. Eleventh grade detention for having a little fun in Chemistry. Rachel handed him a pair of thick, protective gloves and showed him where the beakers were and the specific way he must dry them. There were a few threats thrown in there in the case that he didn't do everything as instructed. Richard just waved her off.

"I have a few errands I need to run." Rachel told him, grabbing her bag off of her cluttered desk. "Don't blow anything up." She sent him a grin. It was barely noticeable, just the edges of her lip slightly more upturned than before, but Richard would take it. It would make both of their jobs easier if she didn't hate him.

As he mindlessly washed the glass, letting his thoughts drift back to what Rachel had told him. It could be a coincidence, and since they didn't have entire prints, they couldn't even be sure, but something seemed _off _to him. Maybe it was the fact that half of the time, the agents were able to take out or apprehend their targets. It was what they were trained to do. It was beaten and screamed into their veins. Complete their assignment at all cost. Finger prints weren't needed often. The Company knew who the bad guys were, they had spies all over the world and a thorough security system.

Richard didn't understand how if his last three assignments were all related that nobody had noticed. Or told him. He paused halfway through washing what smelled like rotten eggs out of a beaker. Was he in more trouble than he originally assumed? Had they stopped giving him vital information on the off chance he would screw up? Because there is no way they didn't at least suspect all of his cases behind connected. Even if his last case was supposed to be someone else's . Richard was just about to finish washing out the rotten egg beaker, when the door to the forensics lab was slammed open. His head whipped around.

"Rachel?"

A guy a few years younger hurried in, carrying a hulking backpack. His dark blonde hair was a mess and he looked far too excited to be in the gloomy forensics lab. So excited, that he didn't hear Richard. This was evident when amongst digging through his bag and extracting various items, he glanced up and had to do a double take. Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Dude," The blonde said, "Aren't you Richard Grayson?" But apparently, the kid didn't need an answer. "That is so awesome! I have no idea you even worked here, Rachel never tells me anything.

"And who exactly are you?" He asked. The kid ditched his bag to thrust a hand out to Richard.

"Logan, Garfield Logan. Call me Gar. I'm an intern here in the forensics lab."

Richard stared at his hand before gesturing to his chemical covered gloves. "I'm not entirely sure you want to shake my hand at the moment." Gar sheepishly ran a hand through his hair.

"Right, right, good call."

He watched as the kid went back to his bag and pulled out a container of... oil?

"What are you doing?"

"This is payback." The kid said, opening a box of deflated balloons. "There's guy who works here is totally asking for it. He purposely tripped me while I was carrying a stack of files for Rachel, and they went flying! All because I accidently stepped on his foot." Gar explained, shaking his head. "He thinks he's the shit just because he works in security. Well, this should even the score."

Works in security?

"Hey, does this guy have a metal hand?"

"Yep." Gar confirmed, his eyes focused on the sophisticated task of pouring oil into a deflated blue balloon.

"I know him. Victor isn't that bad, you know." He told the blonde. Gar hesitated in his pouring, eyeing Richard cautiously.

"You guys are friends?"

Richard nodded with a smirk.

"But don't let that stop you. His face will be hilarious."

The kid sent him a toothy grin. "Man, I knew there was a reason I liked you."

As Richard finished up cleaning all of the beakers for Rachel, Gar set up what looked like a giant sling shot aimed at the door. The kid seemed harmless, if not a little enthusiastic. He wondered how the hell Rachel of all people put up with him. Speaking of the girl...

"Hey, how do you know Vic is going to come down here? What if it's Rachel? She'll kill you, you know." He warned, but Gar shook his head.

"Nah. She might scream a little, but she hasn't reached murderer status yet. Besides, Rae should be out for another hour and Victor may have received a note from her to come down to the forensics lab." He glanced down at his watch. "He should be here in just a minute. Here, help me load the slingshot."

If he was stuck cleaning in the basement, he may as well have some fun with it. He slipped off his heavy duty gloves and walked over to where Gar had set up the contraption. He was instructed to load it with the oil balloon while Gar went to turn off the lights. The kid scurried back and crouched next to Richard behind the sling shot.

"Now," He whispered, never taking his eyes off the door. "The minute the door is open all of the way, we release. It has a slight delay, so we have to get it started before he's able to turn the lights on and..." Richard was sure he would've said more, but the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to trail off. They both gripped the sling shot, prepared to release it. Slowly, the door creaked open, the figure took a step inside.

He exchanged a look with Gar before they released. It didn't go off immediately, just like the kid said. But then...

"Hello?" A femine voice called out. "Rach-"

Garfield's eyes almost bugged out of his head as he jumped up and screamed "Kory, _WAIT_-" But by then it was too late. The release finally kicked in and the oil filled balloon went shooting into the face of the wrong person. It hit with a resounding smack and Richard heard a gasp of shock come from the girl. He stood up as well, to make sure she was okay.

The two guys watched in horror as she stumbled to the side, crashing into a lab table covered with dangerous looking chemicals and the jar that pulsed blood red even in the dark. A few jars were knocked down to the ground instantly, but Richard's eyes were glued to the jar Rachel slapped his hands away from. It teetered, unsure whether or not it wanted to follow the rest of the broken glass. The girl had a single hand gripping the lab table while the other was furiously wiping the oil away from her face. Gar raced to turn the lights on, apologizing profusely while Richard watched in slow motion as the blood red contained tipped a little too far, and careened to the tile floor.

The crash wasn't acknowledged by the other two, they didn't have time.

Approximately three seconds after the substance collided and mixed with the others on the ground, it exploded.

**ooOoo**

**Okay, don't hate me! I know it has been practically five months (four months and twenty eight days), but it's only because I couldn't figure out the conversation between Victor and Richard. **

**I've already begun the next chapter where things start to pick up speed. As I write though, the story keeps getting longer, so it may be twenty chapters (at least). Please review! Until next time -Olivia**


End file.
